Angel's Wasteland
by ParanoiaPoliticianDiva77
Summary: Oneshot shortstory phic where you're left to ponder. Nuclear warfare has broken out and who do you think will meet in the rubble?
1. Chapter 1: Christine and Erik

She opened her eyes and stared at the wasteland that surrounded her. A stench entered her nose and she shuddered at the shocking aroma of death that surrounded her. She wiped her long auburn hair from her eyes and stood shakily, the only moving being in this grey wilderness, a place without meaning or hope.

She shuffled, confused and alone through the piles of bodies and clouds of grey ash and dust surrounded her. The air was thick with this dust that she could not even see the sun, it was cold…colder than she'd ever felt before though she didn't shiver. It wasn't the cold that froze you but an emptiness that chilled the very marrow within your bones.

A breeze came and she turned to stop the ashes of people entering her mouth, her eyes. She was in shock; this could not be happening.

Then she heard it…a whimpering, like an animal in pain. Her heart leapt into her mouth and stared around but the noise was gone, the place that was once her home now as silent as a graveyard. Then she heard the whimper again and a moan of pain and she stumbled over to the cloaked man who lay on the ground.

He was ragged and she did not recognise him. This had been such a small town and she was surprised that this man lay among the dead from the attack. The winter was setting in as she helped the man to his feet and they stumbled among the blackened bricks and broken plaster, skeletons of trees and withered bodies that littered the ground neither of them looking at each other. They walked together…survivors of this terrible act of brutality, the last act of evil that would grace this world, as no one remained to cause such acts.

The enemies to the east had set off the A-bomb just as they had men flying to set one off in the east. Both the worlds of the west and east were shattered and all that remained in this once thriving French village was an old scarred man and a young girl…once a beauty.

What was she to do? Thought Christine as she helped the man hobble along the blackened cracked tar roads. My family, my friend's all dead…and she wiped away a tear from her sooty face, once clear and beautiful with sparkling eyes.

The man didn't have a family nor friends…he had been alone from the beginning and would continue to be alone til the end. They may have survived the blast but there was no way they would survive the disease that would follow.

They sat finally by the river…once blue and beautiful but now was spilt with blood and death, thousands of fish floating on the surface and carcasses of the cattle from the nearby farm.

The man was holding something that he had pulled from the inside of his cloak and Christine leaned forward to see a perfectly knotted rope…a hangman's noose.

"What are you going to do with that?" she spoke finally, fear in her voice as it trembled over the words and he looked at her finally and she screamed with fright.

He had no nose, a black hole serving instead. His flesh was pockmarked and reddened on his right side and slowly got paler and greyer until the left side was as white as death itself. His ragged skin was pulled tight over his face, as if he were a skeleton already, only just alive. He had only one ear the other a lump of the right side of his head. His hair was thin and grey and sparse, as if it had been dragged and placed over his marred flesh and he hardly had any lips to speak of, his teeth like dogs, sharp and canine looking. The area around his eyes was blackened…the skin as black as midnight. She stared at this monster, knowing somehow that this wasn't caused from the blast.

"Don't fear Christine…I'm not going to use this for anything" he said softly holding up the noose and her fearful look did not leave her face "Christine don't fear me…please it's only…it's nothing" he said softly.

"How do you know my name?" she breathed, staring at his monstrous face and he merely smiled warmly, leaving her question unanswered.

Her body loosened and she sighed as he put away the rope. She leant forward and gazed at his monstrous face and he let her. She reached out and touched his scarred rough cheek and it felt cold, colder than ice itself. She brushed his few wisps of hair out of his face and behind his ear.

She didn't know why but she trusted him.

"Is there any food left?" she asked softly and his eyes cast downward and she noticed something pleasing in them. They were a bright green in a grey world, flecks of gold in them. They lit up his face and she smiled at them, they were full of soul and beauty and sadness.

"…No" he said finally "the radiation would've ruined it all-if we had warning we could've saved some of it but we didn't…we're going to die Christine" he said softly and tears spilled from her eyes and she wished she had died in the blast…not this slow painful disease ridden death filled with starvation and surely madness.

"Who are you?" she asked and he looked away.

"I've lived in your town your entire life angel, I'm just not the social type" he said and she tilted her head.

"Angel?" but he stood and began to walk away, singing softly.

'_There's a lady who's sure_

_All that glitters is gold_

_And she's buying a stairway to heaven_

_When she get's there she knows_

_If the stores are all closed_

_With a word she can get what she came for…'_

His voice was heaven, intricately perfect in every way; everything that his face was not. She stared at him, entranced by his song, no longer fearful of his face, recognising the song.

"I know that song…my dad has a record of it" she said then running after him "…had…" she corrected herself softly and he stopped and looked at her.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, frustrated.

"Why not…there's no one else for miles that we know of, I'm not leaving myself out here alone" she said and he sighed.

"What about this, doesn't it scare you?" he asked, pointing to the mess that was his face.

"No…how could anything scare anyone after this tragedy" she said, pointing to the wasteland that surrounded them and he nodded.

"Very well then, angel"

"Why do you call me angel?" she asked, tired and hungry and frustrated by this strange man.

"No reason…how old are you? Sixteen?" he guessed and she stopped, wondering what all the questions were for.

"Yes, what about you?" she asked and he turned and looked at her.

"Thirty two" he said and she looked confused at him and he sighed "I know I don't look it; I've looked like this since birth, my hair had thinned and greyed by the time I was your age, my skin pulled tight around my face by the time I was twenty, my looks have gotten more monstrous, believe me if I was the age I looked I wouldn't have survived the blast angel" he said and she was happy with this answer.

"Where are you from? You have an accent," she said, having tried to place the accent.

"I grew up in places such as Persia and then lived in France for most of my life" he answered and she placed the strange accent.

"Do you have a family?" she asked and he shook his head "You're all alone?"

"Yes"

And she took his hand and smiled at him as they walked off together through the unsettling fog full of the ash and dust that was once people's bodies.

And when she died he was all that was left of a crumbling race.

Alone in the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2: Christine and Raoul

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**_Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing...  
_

Christine's eyes shot open and instantly felt her mouth full of dirt. Pushing the rubble off her she coughed and spluttered, wiping the grains of dirt and sand from her eyes as she stared about the remains of her beloved village.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust as a stench of death hit her like a powerful wave and she realised that she was surrounded by bodies, bodies of her parents, her sisters, her friends; the entire town lying dead at her feet.

How could this have happened?

Wobbly getting to her feet, Christine brushed off the dust and dirt which covered her and saw no other life, not a single flower or child had survived the attack.

But Christine started; there was movement a few metres away, a man lying under a piece of debris, a battered old door. He attempted to lift himself, but his arms failed and he slumped over once more.

Her heart in her throat, Christine ran forward, heaving the bricks and door from the man, realising he was a mere boy, her age. She knelt over him; he was lying upon his side and breathing with difficulty.

Eyes opening slowly, the boy looked up at her, a beautiful girl, covered in dirt and dust, streaks of makeup and tears trailing down her face. He smiled and coughed.

"Hey, thanks" he croaked and she smiled.

"You strong enough to walk?" she asked, looking about; though it was midday it was dark, almost as dark as midnight, the clouds of dust and debris from the bomb still up in the air, great mushroom clouds sealing the sun out from the world.

"Why?" he asked with alarm and she worriedly looked across the bodies, a slight breeze wisping about her, her hair and body cooled in the fading heat.

"We need to find shelter; remember, in the warnings the government gave before the attack, they said if we were..." she swallowed "...nuked we have to try to round up survivors and find shelter as quickly as possible. Radiation affects you almost immediately and those theories of a nuclear winter...they don't sound" she bit her lip, trying to find a word better than the laughable one she had thought of. But she couldn't and sighed "...pleasant"

The boy nodded and she helped him to his feet. He was taller than her and a bit lightheaded, obviously having been struck over the head in the explosion. He and the girl held to each other's shoulders for support as they walked, the boy coughing slightly.

Christine looked at him, finally taking in his appearance; short dark blonde hair, slightly touched by the summer sun weeks before. He had bright blue eyes and tanned caramel toned skin. He was naturally built and toned, but now those muscles hung loose and wretched, unable to summon the slightest strength as he looked upon the dead bodies and ruined homes they walked through. He might've even been considered attractive, if his expression wasn't one of utter desolation.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked and Christine nodded.

"A little" she said quietly and the boy reached for a flask on his hip.

"I kept this with me when we got the warnings. Here" he passed it to her "just a sip; this has to last us the day or so walk to Paris"

Taking a small swig, Christine passed the bottle back to the boy and looked at him "Paris?"

"It's where the most survivors would be as it had bomb shelters and a huge population" the boy reasoned and Christine nodded.

"What's your name?" he asked finally and Christine bit her lip, remembering her father telling her that she was named for his twin sister who had drowned when they were teenagers. He had nearly cried at this, remembering his sister and Christine felt like crying; her father was with his sister now. Her entire family was.

"Christine" she finally said "Christine Daaé. What's your name?"

"Don't laugh" he warned her "but its Raoul, Raoul De Chagny. Are you from France?" he asked curiously and Christine knew her last name and accent indicated otherwise.

"No, I'm Swedish but I've lived in Paris with my family since I was ten years old, we were visiting friends in this village" she answered, choking as she said family. The pair fell silent at this, both thinking of their lost families.

They walked until they reached the train tracks; the TGV lay on its side, battered and broken, filled the innocent bodies of the unsuspecting travellers, thinking they would make it out of the country before the bomb hit.

"Oh god" Christine whispered and Raoul sighed, turning away from the train.

"Let's keep moving" he muttered, walking from the train "my older sister Amandine was on that train" he wiped away a tear and Christine ran after him, clutching to him in desperation, sorrow beginning to claim her.

"That's awful! God!" she began to sob "how long until we die as well?" she turned from him and he grabbed her hand, beginning to cry as well.

"We won't die Christine" he whispered and she let him hold her for the next ten minutes, the both of them sharing each other's tears over the loss of their loved ones, their homes, their lives.

Sitting down beneath a withered and dying blackened tree, skeletons like this littering the desert that once was the French countryside, Christine and Raoul realised how cold it was getting.

The two lit a fire, struggling to keep warm as night set in, their stomachs aching for food they would not find. They each had a sip from the flask and put it away; the bottle had to last them both.

Their isolation was eerie; surely there would be other survivors; surely they could not be the only ones?

Christine leant against Raoul, yawning and he turned to her.

"Are we going to die?" he asked and she shook her head.

"I don't know" she whispered. Wrapping his arms about her, Raoul leant back, using his jacket as a blanket for the both of them as the fire began to burn out.

The next morning they awoke, freezing and nauseous. The ash and radiation in the air was beginning its work, Christine running to throw up as she awoke.

They began to walk again, sure that they would reach the outskirts of Paris by the end of the day, following the train tracks of the TGV.

When they reached a river, Christine screamed, a man lying next to it, his eyes and mouth bleeding, his hands in the murky water. He was near death, gasping as foam appeared about the edges of his mouth.

"Don't go near him!" Raoul said suddenly and Christine clung to him "I think he's rabid" he swallowed, attempting not to heave the contents of his stomach.

"Oh god!" Christine groaned as the man stared at them with his bloody eyes, gasping and coughing.

"Help...me" he wheezed but Raoul held onto Christine, who struggled, both wanting to help and run away.

"You can't help him! He's about to die Christine. All it would do is infect you too!" Raoul said sternly and with an exclaimed gasp the man stopped breathing; dead.

Taking Christine's hand, Raoul led her away from the water's edge as she sobbed; she had been so strong yesterday while he was recovering, she had made him go on. When she found him in the rubble he was about to give up and die. She saved him then, now he had to help her; they were all each other had.

"Come on" he soothed her and she sat down on the floor, shaking quietly.

"What about the water? We can refill the flask. I'm so thirsty" she croaked finally and Raoul shook his head, kneeling down before her.

"That man had already drunk from it, it would've been contaminated as well as by the bomb. Water isn't safe anymore" he said softly, passing the flask to her and she took a tiny sip. Handing it back Christine stared at him.

"Let's go; we have to reach Paris"

The two walked for a few more hours but as it was nearing evening, Christine collapsed, not having eaten for days, no energy left. Raoul felt dizzy and decided they could continue the next day.

As he began to set up camp, lighting a fire to keep them warm when the dark day turned to a freezing night, Christine lay breathing slowly on the dirty ground.

"So cold..." she whispered and Raoul turned to see her roll over and be sick once more. But his nausea turned to horror as Raoul realised that Christine was throwing up blood.

"Christine!" he exclaimed, falling to her side as she coughed and spluttered. Turning to him to smile, Christine shook and Raoul recoiled; her smile was a bloody one.

"Raoul..." she said shakily "what's happening to me?" she choked and coughed into her hand, blood flecking across it.

Raoul broke into a sweat, pulling Christine to him and she protested.

"No! No Raoul! I'm sick! You'll get sick too!" she shrieked but she wasn't strong enough to struggle and soon was enclosed in Raoul's arms.

"I don't care" he said softly "If you're sick I'm sick too. Christine, you realise I'm not going on without you?"

"No Raoul!" she shrieked, beginning to cry at the realisation at what he was saying, at what he meant.

"Yes. This is ridiculous, I've known you for just under two days and we're certain to die before we reach Paris. But I love you. It's stupid and irrational but I do. And if you die I die as well" he shook with the words, kissing her upon the cheek and Christine turned to him, finally warm in his embrace.

"You're right; it's inane and foolish, but it feels right" she coughed once more into her hand, blood splattering everywhere. Raoul took the flask and held it to her mouth and Christine drank voraciously, half draining it. Turning back to Raoul her mouth and face was clean, the blood gone, her beauty finally able to shine through the clouds of dust.

"Raoul" she whispered and without thought she kissed him.

The two lay back on their jackets which created a pathetic bed for them. They kissed tenderly for a few hours, until the last trickle of light was gone and the fire sizzled away.

Enwrapped in each other's arms, Christine had not coughed for the past hours; the pair finally had regained hope.

"I love you Raoul" she whispered into his ear and he felt something inside him die of happiness; how in such a desolate wasteland could he have found this saviour, this angel?

"I love you Christine"

Three beggars ambled along that next morning, following the TGV train tracks to Paris, three poor survivors of the bombs.

"Oi! There's campfire smoke over there! Other survivors!" shouted one of the beggars, and the three dashed to the group of dead tress where a small campfire was visible.

But as they came around the corner they realised with dismay that the two campers, children a boy and girl in their teens, were already dead in each other's arms.

Leaning over the pair, Orion, the tall dark haired man of the three, felt for a pulse on the girl's neck; none. The boy's was the same. But the pair were warm, lying on one jacket and another jacket used for a blanket. They must've only just have died, within the past hour or so.

"Poor kids" Alain said gruffly and Kieran nodded, the youngest of the three.

"I'm amazed they survived till now" he sighed and after checking the pockets of the children, taking any coins, they left the kids where they were; still warm in each other's arms.

Still dreaming of Paris.

* * *


End file.
